A Month of Weekends

 

Winter Sky

24 January 2021

New Year's Day was rainy. January 2 wasn't. Tom offered to lead a ride from Mercer County Park through Princeton and on to Hillsborough, so that we'd be into the wind first.

I'm not sure where we were when someone had a mechanical of some sort. I did my usual winter thing, pointing my camera to the sky.

There were two jets flying close to each other. They were too far away to get a good shot (click on the pictures; it might help).

The Griggstown Causeway is prone to flooding. This time, the road was clear, but the parking lot was under water.

Someone had a mechanical of some sort and pulled over. I was a bit ahead, and took the time to take pictures on the bridge.

On Plain Jim's Sunday ride the next week, we stopped for a minute at the arboretum at Montgomery Veteran's Park.

The following Saturday, Tom led me and Pete from Mercer County Park to Bordentown. The overlook where the Crosswicks drains to the Delaware isn't as pretty at low tide.

The wind picked up by the end of the ride, and I fought it all the way back from the park.

The next day was even windier. A lot of fast people I didn't know had signed up for Plain Jim's ride. For most of the route, we were into the wind or being pushed sideways. Only when we got to Sunset Road to turn east did we catch a break. I managed to get a little ahead while the group bunched up waiting for everyone to make the turn, and I took the opportunity to get lots of cloud pictures, which is what I do in the winter. 

The group got ahead of me at this point, but I didn't care; we had a tailwind now.

By the following Saturday, we'd plunged into a medium-deep freeze, which is to say that we weren't in the single digits, but we were in air that was in the high 20s with wind gusts to match. I hadn't led a ride all year, so I listed one for the towpath. I got four takers.

Ricky and Ken G rode in from home on their gravel bikes, and Martin came in from home as well. Ricky had his new gravel bike too. I'm still stuck with my 13-year old mountain bike, whose front brake cable comes out of its housing every time I take the front wheel off, which I have to do to get it into my car. I've taken to wrapping a Velcro strap around the brake lever to keep tension on the cable. I had the front end serviced less than 200 miles ago. The levers are shit.

I asked Ricky some more questions about his bike. It's a Cannondale Topstone 4, the only gravel bike I've seen so far that isn't more than I need. It's a one-by with mechanical disc brakes. And that's it. No fancy shocks, no hydraulics, just simple bike. The price is right, at something like $1100. The light blue color isn't bad either, which is saying something, because every other new gravel bike I've seen is some version of puke brown. Of course, one ride on the towpath in the winter will turn any frame puke brown.

I was pleasantly surprised that Grover ran as smoothly as he did, considering that, to clear him of half an inch of towpath last time, when my garden hose was frozen, I splashed four buckets of hot water onto the frame and drivetrain to clean him off.

Delaware River at Washington Crossing

Still, I had to work hard to keep up as we headed north on the Pennsylvania side. I used the bridge over  Pidcock Creek as an excuse to take pictures and give my legs a rest.

It takes me longer to get my right glove off and the camera out of my pocket than it does for me to take all those pictures.

The droplets of water in my Camelbak line froze.

I'd originally suggested we turn around at Stockton, where there's a stairway from the towpath to the bridge. Ken, Pete, and Ricky were already up it when Martin and I got there. I was standing next to a trail map that listed miles between bridges. If we turned around here we wouldn't even have 20 miles. Martin suggested we could go on to Bulls Island. I liked the idea. Ken and Ricky were cool with it. Pete had to get home, so he stayed up on the bridge and left us.

I'd forgotten how bad the towpath is on the PA side north of Stockton. No wonder people turn around there.

The sun cast shadows of the Bulls Island bridge railings onto the cement. By the time I got my camera out, a cloud had gotten in the way. 

Going north, pushing against the wind, felt like hours. Going south, with the wind pushing us, felt like minutes. After I got home, warmed up, and had some time to think, I called Ross Hart and asked if he'd be able to find me a Topstone 4. I might have to wait a year; he'll call me back.

Tom wanted company today. He'd be up in Long Valley to visit his father and would be riding on the Columbia Trail. I left Grover in the car overnight and drove up to meet him at the Coffee Potter on Schooley's Mountain Road. 

It felt a lot colder than yesterday. I'd stupidly checked the forecast for Trenton, not Long Valley. Once we got moving, south towards High Bridge, it wasn't so bad. We were between trees most of the time.

We always stop for pictures on the bridge over the Ken Lockwood Gorge.

My lens needs cleaing.

I think we had a tailwind, and the grade is ever so slightly downhill between Long Valley and High Bridge. Compared to yesterday, this felt easy. Also, Tom was riding a mountain bike, so we were better matched.

On our way back, we opted for the dirt road in the gorge.

It started off as we'd expected: the pavement gave way to gravel with the occasional ice-filled pothole. But farther north, the road had been washed out and filled in, first with large gravel chunks, and then with stones too large and jagged for our talents. We walked over those. Tom's rear wheel skidded out on him on a patch of ice. The fall snapped off his pump holder, but he was fine. I stopped a lot for pictures.

The Coffee Potter is doing brisk business as a drive-through. I loaded up on pastries, then stopped again at the Oldwick General Store to buy a pumpkin loaf. I always want to buy a pumpkin loaf when I'm there on my bike, but the things weigh more than a few pounds and are far too big for anyone's pannier. I was skeeved by several maskless customers, though. I got in and got out with the cherished loaf, grumbling to myself about the covidiots of Hunterdon County.